This Thing That Was In My Head.

"So say there was another world, then. Would we be together?"

She paused, smiling, and set down the cup.

"I don't think so, darling."

"But, you love me. And I love you. If there was no him, or no her, wouldn't that make things seem right? What else do you need?"

"You love a lot of people, Jane. I love you the way one loves things that are strictly dreams. Things that can't be believed in. I love you how I love Santa Clause for his spirit, or how I wish I could love Jesus. You ask if we would be together. You're not asking if I'd fuck you or we'd share a room. What you're asking is if I'd believe in you. As more than a beautiful gesture or an idea. And at this point, I know you too well. I can't put that sort of faith in you - I see you for who you are. Permanence is not your virtue. I can't pretend we'd be together. I know you too well to love you that way. You don't even enjoy your own company for more than a few moments at a time. What good would a lifetime of me do?"

"It could be different," I managed, "and human nature is not so predictable. Things could be different this time."

"And no two snowflakes are alike, but they'll all fall together, end in an inanimate heap together, and eventually melt into disappearance together. Originality gains me no points. Nor would niavete."

"I could change," I countered, "and things could be as they've never been before. I could fix all the broken things. I could make you different."

"And the world could end next week. I could die tomorrow. The sky could turn purple. We could get fired from our jobs. Could, could, could - a future built out of the hollow bones of little birds. You could do anything. But it's like that lovely poem by Stevens - 'the surviving form of shall or ought to be in is ' - a little piece of hopefulness will always permeate our tomorrows. At the very least, a memory of that hopefulness. And yet, it's just a small piece if it's anything at all. You're already an amalgamated sum of all your defeated 'could be's.' I can't pretend there's no difference between the insistency of 'could be' and the firmness of 'will be' or the truth of 'is.' "

"So what you're saying is, I can't change? You'd not give me that chance?"

"What I'm saying is, you'll never stop changing. And I wouldn't bank on it, no. I need you too much to let you defeat yourself for my sake. I know you too well to love you like that. We would both die. Alone. Together. Alone."